


An Arrow Through The Axe

by NellHathNoFury



Series: Dream SMP Collection [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassins, Dragons, F/F, F/M, High Fantasy, M/M, Minecraft, Multi, Prophecy, Quests, Sapnap Pov, Witches, Wizards, dreamnotfound, karlnap, this is so sporadic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellHathNoFury/pseuds/NellHathNoFury
Summary: Niklaus, after the destruction of his hometown, finds himself at the mercy of a cruel world and all it has to offer: Dark prophecies, green-skinned zombies, vengeful witches, and a crazed assassin with a mask hewn of bone.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Dream SMP Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129781
Kudos: 2





	An Arrow Through The Axe

I am a hunter, Niklaus reminded himself.

I am a hunter, even when I'm afraid. I'm a hunter, even when there is no food to bring to the table, or no carcass to drag into town to sell. I am a hunter, even when Karl Oxenstjarna says I'm no better than a mud-soaked piglet.

I am a hunter, even when there's no more arrows in my quiver, the sun's nearly set, and there's wolves out in the shadows. Hungry wolves, most likely. Places such as these became the wolves' dinner table once the moon rose into the star-strewn sky.

Niklaus had no luck when it came to hunting. He'd spent the last three days of the week traveling aimlessly throughout the woods lining the edge of town, where deer were sure to frolic, lap water from the creek. His mind darted to the image of the creek, and he decided that perhaps it was time to collect some fish if he couldn't bring home a fawn by the end of the week.

When was the last time he had venison for dinner? When was the last time he had an abundant supper, a day well spent, and his belly full? Niklaus felt a tinge of surprise, sharp as rose thorns, at the fact his father hadn't exiled him to a village beyond the gray mountains, to disappoint another family elsewhere. 

At the same time, however, Niklaus would be surprised if his father _did_ , though he knew that if he was sent away, people would yearn for his return. Kaolin, Niki, _maybe_ Marija.

Just three, maybe two. None of them related to him.

As he was a hunter, he did spend days with Kaolin in the forest. Kaolin was a much better shot than Niklaus. His lips taut as he concentrated, Kaolin's arrows never missed, chasing deer, birds, and squirrels as though they were alive themselves, iron-clawed birds of prey. Niklaus had dared Kaolin once before to kill a fish in the creek, an especially bright trout, and needless to say, the boy succeeded without a second try. Niklaus couldn't remember the last time his belly was full; Kaolin, on the other hand, had a dinner table that ached under the weight of food. He couldn't share, though, no matter how hard he tried and how long he pleaded Niklaus' case to his parents: Kaolin was one of eight siblings.

Niklaus asked again and again just what the other boy's secret was.

"You're just not molded out for it, I don't think," Kaolin had said, the first time he was asked. "No offense, though."

I am a hunter, Niklaus told himself then, even though he was red with jealousy.

Niki was far more talkative than Kaolin, and Niklaus loved that about her. She was wild, doomed to never find a husband with her japes and her stubborn demeanor.

Once when Niklaus was young and Niki was young, he asked his mother, "You don't think Niki will be married someday?" He had overheard her, speaking in low tones, her words snide, about the girl. Just because Niklaus was a child then didn't mean he was deaf, though his mother wished it.

"She will not," said Niklaus' mother. "She'll grow old and she'll desiccate; toads and owls and cats will follow her as she wades naked in the creek. She'll be a witch, that's it."

Niklaus' heart shriveled as if it were a snakeskin at the sound of that word. _Witch_. 'Witch' rhymed with 'bitch', first of all, and although both Kaolin and Niki said it, a boy from town — Dale, Darryl, what was his name? — insisted that he, nor anyone else, would be allowed to say such words, lest excrement pour from their mouths.

But if anyone was a witch, and what that truly meant was anyone who _was_ a witch, through and through, born cursed, or branded as such without proof, they would be shunned at best and burned at worst, their ashes trapped within charmed ceramics to ensure their polluted spirit never returned to the world. Niklaus had no qualms of watching Niki burn until she was nothing but gray, foul-smelling bits.

Niklaus had asked Niki if she was ever to marry. Niki was far more blunt about the matter, though her words stabbed Niklaus after they leapt from her mouth. _Perhaps I'll marry a woman, and we'll run away to the Wald._

"Who?" Niklaus inquired. By the look of her face, he registered that she had never told anyone that before; to be a woman and love women was a hush-hush matter, surely proof that one was a witch. "Which girl in town?"

"Marija."

What's new, Niklaus thought then. _Everybody_ wants Marija.

Marija was the cousin of Karl Oxenstjarna; her mother was betrothed to the brother of Oxenstjarna's father. She lived in the same house as that wretched bully, a spacious and elegant manor of mahogany and gleaming blocks of marble. She couldn't be any different from Oxenstjarna and his younger, bat-faced brother; she wound a thousand flowers in her hair, she was a painter, she was strange yet beautiful and desire by all who met her. Niklaus always wondered why he was exempt from her spell; he theorized it was the way her dark eyebrows met unevenly in the middle, something he'd only ever seen on men. 

Even on days where Marija was not as glamorous as she had been the day before, whenever she came in the marketplace with bruises on her hairy legs and beneath her eyes, she made it her mission to make herself known. She wanted to stretch in all directions, and although he never said it, Niklaus had that in common with her.

Marija's mother was strange as well, though undesirable; strange in a repugnant way. She came from the Wald, some said, and before she married Søren Oxenstjarna, her last name was Lenz. Her first name, one far stranger and ugly-sounding than her surname, was Njorun. In a refusal of tradition, she named Marija herself. Her husband compromised by naming their two other children far more common names: Alva and Olle.

From as long as Niklaus could walk his mother spoke wonders of Marija, pearls in contrast to the froggy gossip of Niki. Marija this, Marija that, Marija will marry you someday, you must tell her that. Though Niklaus and Marija talked every other day, never, not once, did Niklaus declare he wished to marry the girl. His mother only wanted grandchildren and beads of amber around her neck, and perhaps the sound of 'Marija Arktos' rather than 'Marija Oxenstjarna'. Kaolin spoke fondly of Marija on the days he accompanied Niklaus into the woods — Kaolin would smile, greedy, until Niklaus began to wonder if they were hunting deer or hunting Marija.

Marija was no better than a statue. Something to admire, never to love, never to father children with.

Maybe Niklaus needed Kaolin at this hour, an hour that belonged to the wolves. Wading in his thoughts had killed time, yes, but Niklaus still found himself in the shadows of the trees and at the mercy of the hidden wolf pack. The sun had set; his heart thumped louder and louder in his chest as he swore he heard a twig crunch — were the wolves near? Was that a howl?

He began to walk quicker, ignoring the crescendo of his heart. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Niki was waiting on him, waiting to hear of his latest adventure. Marija was in the company of her cousins, slapping them when they spoke badly of her. Karl —

"Nick," said a voice from behind. Niklaus yelped; it was just Kaolin, not a wolf. 

"Evening," said Kaolin, and even though Niklaus was blinded by the darkness he could hear a smile from the other boy. "Successful day?"

"What do you think?" Niklaus retorted, crunching a twig. "I never get anything."

"Try practicing on Oxenstjarna," Kaolin said. A laugh escaped Niklaus' mouth. "You deal with him first, and I'll finish him off. Then, the dragon will be slain and the princess will want my hand in marriage."

Niklaus rolled his eyes at the subtle mention of Marija. "Why not mine?" he asked, to tease Kaolin. "I started the job."

"And I... finished."

The boys shared a laugh.

"She's yours, though," Niklaus admitted. 

Lost in conversation, the tides of Niklaus' heart halted once he and Kaolin made it back into town, the hamlet of Yoke. Niklaus turned around, to face the woods for the final time that day, and bowed. 

"May the wolves find their dinner. Not me, not this time."


End file.
